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How sweet is the sting of something bitter as it physics and redeems the soul, and, if she finds the cure too harsh, that's because she's still ill, weak, and barely understands what's happening. Ah, while I live in Your-- I can't look to lesser light, but must take joy, and without human stain, fix my mind on You alone--only through You health and true arousal--You alone are always kind, Your inescapable demand sweet, Your weight light, as faith tempts me through love's door. So to know such peace we bear life's movement and changes, to pass into still changeless light run through ephemeral swift-moving mists. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V CLXIX:329. See also B S2:16:185. Key |
